2024.09.16: Lyna and Hector arrive
A raven lands on a tree overlooking the empty street near the town's north entrance. It paces back and forth on the branch for a moment before lifting off again and flying into a two-way alley. After a moment, a young women steps out. Her black hair quickly gets tied into a ponytail and she checks her simple jeans and black shirt over for any too obvious rips or stains. Finding nothing, she starts Walking down the street, looking for a conveniently placed map or a convenience store. Two figures approach from the South - although they make a pretty odd couple for this time of night. One is a man who looks around college age, dressed much like any other university student, pale and skinny. The other is a shoeless redhead in a Stevie Nicks shirt who could be any age. “Do you think I’m being too sentimental?” The young man asks. It’s a sincere question, muttered with almost embarrassment. "This is not the right shop for that sort of question. I was mooning about being homesick when you found me, remember?" The woman sounds amused. Her full skirt and bell-sleeved blouse are rather out of time and place but it is also the middle of the night. She, too, is pale and the streetlights seem to make her glow faintly. There is the odd sense that she seems familiar from somewhere, some film or television program perhaps. The aesthetic in her dress is Waterhouse by way of Fleetwood Mac. He nods, a little smile forming; but only a little one. “True enough. And you never did answer my question.” The young man is clearly trying to look anywhere but at her. The young woman's head lifts as the next breeze moves by her, as though she heard something. She looks around for a moment, undecided, but then keeps going in the direction the wind came from, brushing down her clothes and trying to look like she belongs. "My partner says my inability to answer questions is my worst quality." A companionable nod. North Albion is mostly residential, but there are some small pockets of shopping and other suburban amenities. Most of these oases of commerce are closed. A patrol car occasionally rolls by, but so far, Lyna appeares to be ignored. Doris and Sheridan are also ignored, but for totally different reasons. Lyna continues moving, again looking for convenience store. "Every little place has maps on the streets, just not this one," she grumbles. “A King needs his...” Sheridan doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he turns and shouts across the street at the young woman. How he heard her is a good question. “Use the app,” he yells. “This whole city is just one app.” He smiles apologetically at Doris. "You are both correct and incorrect at the same time." Doris smirks. She also turns her attention to the girl across the street, squinting slightly. "Are you lost?" Lyna's head snaps up and she turns it towards the walking couple on the other side of the street. She had noticed them but had been too concentrated on her search to look closer at them. "I don't have a phone," she yells back and then just checks the street and crosses over to them. Coming closer, she clearly doesn't look as put together as she might hope. Her hair, despite the pony tail, is a tangled mess and her shirt is threadbare. Her sneakers are also dirty and definitely not new. The same is true for the small back pack she carries. "Lost would mean I had a place to end up at." "Or it could simply mean you are uncertain of where that place ought to be. You look as if you have come a long way from somewhere." The other woman sounds pleasant, if neutral. Compassionately distant. Her companion is smiling, looks relaxed. But also curious; why, in a city where everyone has a reason to be, would someone have no reason at all? "Well, I guess right now I'm looking for a job and a place to stay," she says louder. "That's usually the first thing I do in a new place." Not that she needs a job, really, but it helps to blend in. "I can do you a drink and a place to gather your thoughts if that helps." Still cheerfully neutral. "What sort of work are you looking for?" That sounds like a good start," she nods and then grins. "One that pays. Some thing outdoors would be good. Manual." She holds out her hand, sees the dirt under her nails, and reconsider, pulling it back. "Name's Lyna Grimm." "Doris Ashview. Head of HR of Gordon Industries, so our meeting is lucky." There is no offense taken at the withdrawn handshake. “Always construction,” Sheridan chimes in. “Seems like they’re working dusk ‘til dawn to get the ground laid for the next high rise, monorail route, whatever. Ah, Gavin, by the way. Sheridan. Nowhere near as important as Miss Ashview.” "Sheridan is studying at university here." Doris volunteers. "Construction is good," lyna nods, commuting their names to memory. "Especially if there's an in to HR already. Might help woth the background check." She makes it sound like a joke but her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Is there cause for concern?" Sheridan is still smiling, but his acute hearing is listening, too. Initially it was just for where stress sat in the voice, but... is there a heartbeat? "Oh, No, I was mostly joking," she says with a shrug. "Just haven't had a steady life in the last six months. Moved a lot. But there's a bank account and no police report, so." Her grin turns slightly feral. "Nothing they ever caught me for." “And you’re looking for a steady life in New Albion?” There’s almost a hoot of amusement at the thought. “This place is crazier than Duckberg.” "The first rule is always unwritten, and it is always 'Do not get caught.'" Doris grins slyly. "Shall we find a drink?" "Maybe not steady but one can always try," she shrugs. "Ah, I don't really drink alcohol," she says, blinking innocently. "Impacts the senses, makes one vulnerable to all those things that lurk in the night..." “Aren’t you lurking in the night?” Sheridan says. “Although word to the wise - avoid sewer grates.” "We have nonalcoholic options." Neutrally oblique. "Am I lurking?" She asks. "Ardnt I walking down an open street?" She smiles at Doris, showing teeth. "I think I'll rather save my money until I found a steady place to stay at and get a paycheck. Is there somewhere nice to stay at night close by? And a rental company that opens late, by any chance?" “And there I was, thinking we were all kindred spirits.” Sheridan shrugs, letting the women do the talking, instead pulling out his phone. "Did I say anything about you paying for things, Miss Grimm?" Doris' tone suggests that perhaps she took the toothy smile as some sort of threat. "Additionally, how are you going to rent a place with no steady means of income?" "I have savings," she answers, her smile vanished. "And I do not take charity." She takes a step back. "Thank you for the offer; I believe I will find my way from here." The earth is always a good place to sleep if necessary. "If you will be staying long, I suggest you make time to see me professionally, Miss Grimm." More neutral. “Sanderson Hotel is two blocks that way,” Sheridan says without looking up from his phone. “I think it’s Sanderson. Or Saunders. Or Danderbum. Something like that? Nice enough that the maids might actually obey a do-not-disturb sign. If you prefer things a little less scrubbed, head over the river. No idea about motels that way.” "Thank you," she says a bit stifly. "I'll gladly make an appointment with your office." She looks at Gavin. "Thank you. I will check it out," she says, having no intention of checking into that specific hotel. "I'm sure we will meet each other again." Sheridan glances up, gives a quick smile. “Probably. Welcome to New Albion. Stay out of the sewers. Really.” Then back to his phone. "Undoubtedly." Still that nagging sense that Doris is familiar from somewhere. "And yes, do stay out of the sewers. Do not allow us to detain you, Miss Grimm." "No need for me to take to the underground, I prefer air," she says with a smile. She looks at Doris for a moment longer, then shakes her head ad she can't put her finger on it, and moves in the direction of the hotel, for appearance sake. "Foods easier to find out of the city too and rats taste horrible," she says under her breath, wondering if it will confirm her suspicion of the couple. She couldn't hear a heartbeat but one never knows. “Never tried ‘em,” Sheridan says, still glued to his phone, clearly not paying that much attention. “There aren’t any down there, anyway. All killed by multi-eyed tentacle monsters.” "Sheridan." Hissed. Doris does not sound pleased. "We do not discuss the tentacle monsters in public." Lyna had turned around and was grinning at them. "Tentacles aren't scary anymore," She says, still in a low voice. "Montreal had those, too." "How long were you in Montreal?" There is a hint of sharpness in Doris' voice now. "About a year," she says, wary again. "Arrived last spring, left in January. There was a huge fight, almost died, decided to fuck off." "Did you make the acquaintance of one Marcus Antoninus?" The question is slightly hesitant. Testing. She blinks. "Uuuhh... stuck up Ventrue in a suit?" she asks. "I think I gave him a dog once. But he arrived basically when I left." "Who did you know?" Still hesitant. "All Ventrue are stuck up and wear suits, but thank you for clarifying your residential status for me." "Well, Prince Mowbarry, of course," she thinks back. "Sad to have lost her, she was... nice... Moreau seems to have the city well in hand, though. At least I haven*t heard of it burning yet." She smirks. "Blackett is a fun guy, Mydol a riot... That good enough for your interrogation?" "Yet. Thaddeus is a good boy, but..." An eloquent shrug. "I shall let Mister Gordon know you are here. Which clan chieftain should I direct you towards?" "A good boy," she mouthes, grinning widely. "That's not something I have heard him called before. Who is Mister Gordon?" She flashes yellow eyes at her. "Gangrel, thanks." "The Prince," Sheridan says. Then a quick point at Doris. "And that's the seneschal. And keeper. Wasn't kidding when I said she's more important." She nodds. "Ah. Well, lucky I ran into you then." She shrugs. "Technically I'm still Primogen in Montreal? Maybe? Not sure I ever got replaced; they certainly didn't get to strip me off the title..." "One can be removed from office if one is absent for too long a time. I shall let Hackett know you are here. The metro park on the east side of town is the territory ceded to your people. There are, potentially, also werewolves. Please try not to antagonize them." There is the tiniest and most secretive of smiles. "And yes, a good boy in spite of his temper and general...Frenchness." A vague handwave. "You know Blackett?" she asks, intrigued. "Small world..." She orientates herself west-ward. "Thanks, I'll go there. Werewolves and I usually get along. If no Tremere are involved..." She frowns at the memory but it's easily dispatched by her opinion of Moreau. "Frenchness. Oh god, yes." She laughs. "He was quite kind and respectful of my prerogatives while I was a guest. But still dreadfully French. Giles was, I think, afraid I would lose my temper with the freshly-minted Prince at our first meeting..." Doris shrugs (and corrects her directions in her prior post because player is directionally challenged). "Hackett and Crickett are, along with a young woman named Caity Black, your clanmates." "You call him Giles?" Lyna asks, still delighted. "This is getting better and better..." She nods and commits those names to memory too. "Thank you. Can't wait to meet them." "You may change your mind once you are face to face with the Wolf of DC." Doris' grin is sharp. Sheridan says nothing, and merely rolls his eyes. "We will see," she says agreeably enough. "It's touch and go most of the time." Doris merely gestures vaguely, indicating the dimensions of a vending machine. "Would you like that drink after all?" "Now that I know for sure I don't have to pretend to drink soda - yes please," she says, grinning. "And I can pay. I don't actually need a job, but it's a nice distraction." "There is work and plenty of it here, and Himself pays more than well enough." An eloquent shrug and the barefoot woman turns to pad off towards her bar. "Sounds like dream come true," she says, following her. Sheridan pauses for a moment, shrugs and tags along quietly. The Blue Devil Security has gone home by now. Officially the bar is closed for the night, as are most of the other clubs and bars in the city. However, Doris has a key and, after some elaborate fiddling with the lock on the alley entrance, ushers her guests through the tiny back room, kitchen, and all into the main bar. Even in the dim illumination from security lights, the place is understatedly luxurious. For Sheridan, the retro decor and its 1940s vibe is familiar. "Mind your eyes." Quietly. Then, after a moment to allow her gusts to brace themselves, she turns on a few more lights. Sheridan’s eyes close, waiting as the brilliant luminescence forces its way to illuminate blinkered eyelids. Then, shielding his face, he gradually removes his hand and gets accustomed to the light. “This is the last place I should be tonight,” he says, more to Doris than the newcomer, a strain in his voice. Then to Grimm: “Also, this is Elysia. Always worth knowing.” "You did not have to come with." There is a touch of concern in Doris' voice. “I’m OK,” Sheridan says, meaning it. “What we talked about... I added it to a little dream list I keep tucked away. Not imminent.” There’s a half-smile. He copes. The sound of a well tuned, high performance engine proceeds the new comers. Cautiously, they enter the bar via the same entrance as the party, making it their entrance had gone observed. First a petite blonde in a crimson pant-suit and practical flats. Beautiful, even by the standards of the assembled, it was her bright blue eyes that would strike and captivate those she chose to look upon. Immediately after her, a red headed child in glasses entered. Dressed in a double breasted, white suit with his hands folded behind him, he stood as tall as his diminutive height allowed. "My name is Dr. Deandrea Hines. We would like to speak with some one in HR." She spoke it with the remnants of an eastern European accent phrased less as a demand and more as a question. There is an authorative rustle of skirts as Doris moves to put herself between her guests and the quasi-intruders. "You stand on sacred ground. What is your business?" At this hour and with that sort of request, there is no point in holding up any illusions that the visitors are anything but merely human-looking. The boy stepped forward. "Shes the one." The blonde woman said and stepped back. "My name is Hector." He unfolded his hands so that they could be seen. "I come seeking asylum. I would ask you to forgive my intrusion but of all that I'm asking for that is the least of my concerns." "Asylum?" "Protection. Even if its temporary. My servant and I have been fleeing the Sabbat and we must rest. " The auburn-haired woman who has yet to introduce herself snorts softly. "They will not look for you here, I do not think. What have you done to vex the Sword of Cain?" "I have something my Sire dearly wants, and I have dared to keep it from him." His glance briefly shifts to his right. "We all defy our elders from time to ti-." The neutrally serious face shifts in expression to resemble the look of a woman who is now not so much startled into sternness as she is on her guard and ready to do...something unpleasant...if necessary. She clears her throat. "From time to time. Speak plainly. I must know the truth if I am to accurately assist you." Letting his gaze wander to the others in the room, his hesitation shows. A weariness is allowed to cross his features in a way that literally causes his skin to ripple for a moment. "Is there a place we may speak in private?" He spread his arms and splayed his fingers, inviting a search of she requested. "A place of your choosing." "There is détente between the Sword and the Tower and I have no interest in telling them anything." Doris shrugs. "This is as private and safe a place as any." "Of that we are agreed." Arms still spread he looked Doris is the face, looking past her eyes but as close as possible. The woman in the background was in a carefully neutral stance, but one that could, and would, change at the first indication of her Master's will. "I seek a refuge more permanent than this place. I cannot continue my work if we are forced to flee again. Wir haben-" a slight pause. "- we have no quarrel with either side but the Sword, as you call them has become hostile to us. To be even more plain, if possible, here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a USB drive. He walked half way to Doris and set it down, then backed away. "That is stage 1 of my work. Look and you will see why we are worth keeping." "I shall do so." She pads over to the stick drive and picks it up. "With some additional assistance. I understand you cannot stay here indefinitely, no matter how safe it is." Nods. "Time is short." "What space I have here is available to you until other arrangements can be made." Accords are accords. A figure slinks in through the backdoor.... because he wears a grey pull over hoodie and cargo jeans. He carries a black messenger bag. The hood is up and he wears a scraggly day old beard. He drops his arms but does not turn to the new comer. "Thank you." The woman on the other hand turns ever so slightly, ready to address any new threat. Doris can not only see the scruffy individual slink in, she addresses him. "One more step and I will reduce you to a pile of quivering flesh." "If you weren't Dre's mom I would make a lewd comment about that... however I've been without an energy drink for the past hour and a half." Randy says. "Why are you here?" Tartly. Finally taking his eyes off of Doris, Hector turns to the woman and gives a subtle hand signal. She immediately and visibly relaxes. "Park the car and bring the bag please." Looking back to Doris. "Lewd comments not withstanding, I doubt you wish us to camp here. Would you be kind enough to direct me to either a room or at least a suitable alcove?" "Your son keeps mentioning getting me videos to go over to find things. He's too busy writing co-op pieces to drive that journalist with a pornstar name made to follow up. He literally said "I don't know what's going on with that go ask her yourself..." like I wouldn't actually do it, so this is putting the screws to him too. Anyway I watched everyone slink in the backdoor so I decided to slink in to follow." "I did not slink." Still tart. "Herr Hector, I can do better than an alcove, allow me to contact someone regarding that matter." Doris pulls out her cellphone and types out a text. The woman returns with a small steamer trunk. "Thank you for your hospitality. I apologize for our entrance." She spoke and gave a slight bow to Doris. "Yes yes. All the obsequiences. Deandrea...how has our subject faired?" Hector directed her to one side of the room. "Currently still in stable torpor. All signs normal." "Good. We must begin testing again once we are set up. See to it as quickly as possible." Randy taps a quick text message and puts the phone back in his pocket. Lyna watches all this with curiosity after she gets used to the light. "Not a single dull moment here," she says amused and then looks at Hector. "So nervös, dass du dein Englisch vergisst?" "Well if you don't need me here I'll be off to chug a 6 pack of Monster, Viva Libertas or some shit like that." Doris makes a rather odd face, then taps out another message. She clears her throat. "I am not going to ask. I do not want to know." Then, to Randy: "I do not have the security feed, you will have to speak with Mister Antoninus, who is undoubtedly going to be arriving more or less directly." Hector perks up from the now, partially unpacked trunk and looks at Lyna. "Nein. Nur wenn ich will." He checks a now humming laptop. "Good, my dear. Good! We hit stage 4 yet! Even after all of these interruptions!" He begins typing feverishly. Her evening in complete chaos, the Keeper-Seneschal proceeds to rub her face with both hands and mutter to herself in Gaelic. "Gut zu wissen," she answers with a grin and looks at Doris. "I'm guessing this is not usual?" "I am uncertain as to what 'usual' even means any more. May I offer refreshments?" Manners. At least she can lean on those. She pads off behind the bar. Hector has become entirily engrossed in his work. The woman walks to the bar and sits with a grateful smile. "Water would be amazing, please." "Sure," lyna says and also walks to the bar Randy leaves the same way he came in and fades into the night to find energy drinks. Now that she has something to do, Doris proceeds to rummage in a fridge that is tidily hidden behind a set of shelves, then set up a brandy warmer on the bar which is filled with a slightly thick, syrupy red liquid that is readily recognized as blood as soon as it starts reaching palatable temperatures. The woman identified as Deandra is handed a glass of water. Crushed ice. She sips the water and gives a bright, greatful smile. "Thank you." "Does he need anything?" Doris indicates the hyperfocused, diminutive ginger. "No no. Hector gets like this whenever he works. He'll be focused like that till near dawn. I'll slip him something in an hour or so and he'll be fine." She set the water down and extended her hand to Doris. "I'm Doctor Deandra Hines by the way. Sorry again for the rather dramatic entrance. " "Doris Ashview, I am certain the pleasure will be mine, Doctor Hines." Doris leans on the bar. Deandrea sits back and sips her water and keeps an eye on the room. a pale, strikingly beautiful woman with red hair and a petite, slender build wearing an expensive looking white cocktail dress enters the bar looking somewhat bored. She takes in the room before gliding over to the bar "Miz Black. Good evening." Doris is quietly loitering behind the bar, waiting to see what else might go wrong tonight. “Ah, Ms. Ashview, fancy seeing you here.” "This is, in fact, my bar. Drink?" There is a brandy warmer gently bringing what smells like blood to tolerable temperatures and a rather impressive selection of midrange to high-end spirits. “Oh, this is your establishment?” Veronica looks around “Lovely.” "Thank you." The golden age of Hollywood aesthetic makes a fitting setting for the woman whose domain it is. Her court gown makes more sense in context. “You know, whenever I visit a new city, one of this first things I always want to find out is where I can get a good Cosmopolitan. Although....I must say that brandy over there smells positively....divine.” Deandrea nodded another thank you and leaves the empty glass on the bar, marred only by the imprint of a very tastetful color of lipstick. She quietly takes up a careful overwatch position as Hector works. "What would the lady prefer?" Doris quirks an eyebrow. With a barely noticeable twinge of hunger in her voice “I think I’ll try the brandy if I may. I’m a little tired of bellboys for now.” "Of course." Doris tests the overall temperature, then fills a brandy snifter with the pleasantly warmed blood. This is set before Veronica with the slightest of bows. "Enjoy." Veronica takes the glass with a pleasant smile on her lips “I don’t doubt I will. My thanks.” She takes a sip and grins “Mmmmm....delightful.” "Microwaves are for children and barbarians." Doris sounds slightly smug. Or disdainful. “Oh I agree. Sometimes the old ways are best.” “Who microwaves vitae anyway? I’ve never heard of something so dreadful.” "Neonates. Always in a rush." The Neonate is not here to defend himself from the smack talk. “Well, I suppose we were all neonates once. Of course, microwaves or electricity weren’t a thing when I was was first embraced by that decadent old fool....” "Now they are mechanically obsessed." Doris shrugs. “Probably a holdover from their mortal days. Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think that some mechanical devices weren’t useful.” "The piano is a player piano that can manage to call forth nearly as many songs as I can." Doris jerks a thumb at the stage. "Mister Gordon is rather focused on progress and is thus rather more interested in the electronic toys of the day than most." “There’s nothing wrong with progress, darling. There’s something to be said for having a much less contaminated food supply.” "There is that. The rest can be overwhelming. Automobiles that can drive themselves, for example." Veronica’s expression changes to slight disdain “Don’t get me started on the automobile....how the world came to depend on something so noisy that as good as runs on fire, I’ll never know. There are even plenty among our kind that don’t see a problem with a method of conveyance with the potential to explode, can you believe it? Why, I once had to abandon a pair of French heels or risk “That’s why I’m never going back to....OHIO.” slight sulk. “Well, maybe if Mr. Croup or even Mr. Belger extended an invitation, I’d consider it...” "One can always get another pair of shoes." There is a slight huff of ruffled pride as the disdain for her home is expressed. "What exactly is wrong with Ohio, besides the idiots that seem to spring up there like particularly unpleasant mushrooms?" “Cleveland rocks,” Sheridan adds, very unhelpfully, having quietly been going OH FUCK in the corner. “It houses probably one of the most dreadful cities I’ve ever been to, an awful little town called Dayton. I got involved in a rather nasty turf war with the Sabbat there, and the Prince, after a fashion, assembled a pack of fangs to put an end to, of all things, his demented alternate personality, which ended in his destruction. Then after that was when things got interesting. It was....complicated business.” "I feel suddenly far less overwhelmed..." “Besides, having most of your face blown off with a Mossberg Cruiser would cause anyone to develop negative associations with any town I would think.” "That is hardly the fault of the town, my dear. Although I have heard little worth noting about Dayton. I kept, for the most part, to the Queen City." Doris shrugs and sighs. “I know, I know. I’ll allow that I’m not being entirely fair. I suppose I WAS paid a substantial amount for my involvement in the whole affair, and the Sabbat were even kind enough to send in a specter from 80 years ago that I thought I had left dead in a European snowfield one night, so I am grateful for the chance to rectify the oversight. I’ll just leave it at “Go Buckeyes.” Veronica says with a smile. Sheridan, sensing that with two kindred - only one of whom he knows - bitching about Ohio, a creepy red headed stepchild with a lunatic habit and a box fleeing the Sabbat, a smart-mouthed ghoul Anarch, and a new Gangrel in the room, Doris is juggling too much. He rises up. “Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but I should really get going,” he says, interrupting the conversation. “Miss Ashview, can I have a word in private?” "If you will excuse me?" Doris smiles the distracted smile of a hostess with too many guests and not enough time. “It’ll be a moment,” Sheridan says apologetically, practically helping Doris to the back room. “Of course, Ms. Ashview. There was something I was going to ask you, but I am more than happy to wait my turn. I know you’re very busy, although I can’t be held responsible if your brandy is substantially less full when your discussion has concluded.” smiles warmly and gives a slight nod to Gavin Doris is herded out of the room. The Malkavian’s apologies continue even until Doris is hauled away. Eventually Doris reappears. She looks slightly disgruntled. Deandrea is still sitting her defensive position, suppressing a smile poorly as she listens the older women talk. Veronica is sitting motionless, staring at the light reflecting off her (noticeably refilled) brandy snifter There is a quiet snort at the mildly mesmerized Veronica. Toreadors. Doris moves to her table in the corner by the stage and settles herself in. Her attitude suggests she might be waiting for something. Hector quietly curses in an impressive combination of new world and old world languages. "Why will they not bind to the cellular membrane?!" He spoke loudly enough to be heard but also in a way that made it clear he expected no answer. Deandrea walked over to the brandy warmer and poured a glass, adding a dash of something from a flask she produced from her pocket. She wordlessly placed it down near Hector, who picked it up almost as if he always expected it to be there. still staring at her glass "You are engaged in some sort of biological studies?" Doris pads over and peers over Hector's...head. He is incredibly short. "Go look at the drive. Itll explain stage 1 in terms most can understand." He short in his reply as well. He doesn't even look up. " Miss Ashview, is your friend ok? She's very still even for one of your kind." She motions at Veronica. Veronica Black snaps out of her trance. "Her family are all easily distracted by shiny objects." approaches the table “Darling, there is a sizable difference between mere shiny objects and....ART. 'Darling, most of the children of the rose would not know Art if they were bludgeoned into torpor with it." Coolly. There is a faint combative gleam in the little singer's eye. “Poseurs are an unfortunate sect of the rose garden, but should you like to test your theory we can do so in a very efficient manner. It is my art that does the bludgeoning.” She gives a warm, pleasant smile. "I've know a few like that in my time. In my most recent tenure through medical school there was a student that ended up being engaged no less than seven times. Each simply offered her a more expensive and sparkling gem. We used to call her Magpie. You remind me a lot of her." "I wonder how effective you would be at your art if your bludgeon disintegrated in your hand..." Doris grins. Realizing what was going on and wanting no part, Deandrea stepped back into her defensive overlook near Hector. “Highly, I don’t need a brush to paint.” "But you do need hands." “Not as much as you might think.” There is a snort and an eyeroll. "Are we going to do this now?" Lyna snorts and leans back with her drink, watching the scene unfold. “I wasn’t planning on it, there’s no money in it and I moved past the need to boast centuries ago. Besides, I am in the business of solving problems, I don’t create them. I am also keenly aware of where I am. I was going to ask you why you said you were feeling overwhelmed earlier.” "Merely the lot of a civil servant with easily distracted employees and too many complex problems to solve." Doris shrugs. “Sewer mutants acting up again?” "I did not know about the extent of the sewer mutants. There are other concerns. Werewolves. Possibly hunters. Wan Kuei. Too many suicides for a city this size, to the point I am deeply suspicious of most of them." A smirk. “There are Winchester boys in the city?” Veronica’s expression turns to pure disdain. “Garou filth....I would see if you can get any Winchesters that may be in town to run animal control for you, then treat them like a cheap box of White Zinfandel once they’ve served their purpose.” "Wine comes in boxes?" Mild curiosity. "Not good wine." Dee chimes in absentmindedly “Cheaper ones. It’s actually not a bad way to save a little money on your catering budget if you have to throw a big event, like a gallery opening, and expect a bunch of people that probably can’t tell the difference anyway.” "I just expense it." One-shouldered shrug. "Caius Marcellus makes the most delightful sputtering noises." “Yes, but if you always give them the really good selection, then they never leave and never buy anything. It’s a balancing act, a delicate one.” "I never supply too much. Decision paralysis is all too real." “You give the good selections to the people that will buy the high end, original works and give the cheaper wine to the people that will buy a reproduction or a mass produced sculpture. The people that ask where the velvet paintings are at are escorted out back, placed in a large canvas bag, and beaten with a piece of rebar.” "There are other sorts of people at gallery showings?" A raised eyebrow. “It can depend on if you’re doing a gallery showing or opening a storefront. Besides, you can’t correct the uncultured if you don’t let them at least see good art.” "I am working on a cooperative gallery of local artists and initiatives to leave street art alone instead of scrubbing it off the walls." “A laudable initiative. Art, therefore artistes can be found in the most unexpected places.” "The city is too tidy." The tiniest smirk. "Tidiness stifles vitality." “As well as creativity in many cases.” "The city needs to live." Firmly. "Preferbaly without angry dogs and sewer monsters." “Are the rumors of Garou substantiated? Sure it’s not something else digging through the garbage and licking itself?” "Absolutely certain." “Plans to lance that particular boil?” "In the works." There is a small kerfuffle from the front of the bar. It resolves into a selection of individuals with the Gordon Industries logo on the sleeve of their jackets. The leader is a man with half a handsome face. The other half is covered by a ballistic ceramic mask. Hector doesnt appear to look up but his typing increases in tempo. Deandrea casually drops her left hand to the small of her back as she leans carefully against the wall. There is no longer anything relaxed about her. "Ah. Mister Buchanan. A pleasure." Doris smiles briefly. "I trust you will ensure every courtesy for our guests?" Buchanan nods. Doris turns to Hector and Deandrea. "They are here as a token of His Majesty's interest and esteem. Consider yourself in protective custody. Prince Gordon sends his compliments." Hector closes the laptop carefully and walks closer to Deandrea. He extends his hand to her, much like a child would when seeking comfort from his mother. Her clasping of his hand was made to be slow and deliberate, much like the drawing of a sword before a duel. The simple act was made to convey the possibility of deadly intent. So much so that the petite woman seemed to ripple in response to his touch as would a water balloon. Hector locked eyes with Doris, obviously knowing full well what it could mean. "You will vouch for them and this Prince?" "Yes. I suppose my title is Keeper-Seneschal. I vouch for Mister Buchanan and would trust him with my own unlife." Solemnly. "Thank you." He met her eyes once more to convey genuine gratitude then turned to his ghoul. "Pack all of our items and go with these men to see that it is all cared for. I feel that I am safe enough in this place for the time being. Call me when you are set up." "Mr. Buchanan, Deandrea will see to the distribution of my equipment. If you would be kind enough to have one of your men show her where is appropriate I would be greatful." The masked gentleman nods. "Of course, sir. Mister Gordon welcomes you to New Albion." "Thank you. For the time being I would like to remain here. No offense meant to you and yours sir, but I'd much prefer Deedee clear our residence first. Then I'll get back to work." Doris and Buchanan both nod. Category:Logs